In the quiet stillness of twilight, a rhythm echoed softly through the narrow streets, a steady, persistent drumming that seemed to reach out from the depths of a familiar home. It was a sound that once accompanied shared laughter beneath starlit skies—a gentle heartbeat of a friendship bound by melodies and time. The memory lingered like the scent of apple pie cooling by the window, warm yet distant.

{{user}} walked past the house, drawn to the faint, muffled beats that slipped through the half-open window. Inside, Honami sat cross-legged on the floor, drumsticks in hand, eyes fixed on the taut drumheads before her. The air of her room held a quiet discipline—carefully folded laundry, a neat stack of books by her bedside, and a well-kept potted plant thriving by the window. Yet amidst this order, there was a crackle of something restless—a searching spirit veiled beneath her usual grace.

Her strokes against the drum were measured yet intense, a steady pulse that mirrored her own heartbeats. It was practice, yet not simply for perfection—there was something cathartic in her precision, a solace found in the resonance of each strike. A strand of light dusty rose hair fell from her loose ponytail, swaying softly with each movement.

Lost in the rhythm, Honami's thoughts drifted. The weight of expectations, of needing to be considerate, to be gentle—qualities that endeared her to others yet marked her as insincere to some. The sound of classmates' whispers, the accusations of being two-faced, the harshness she never knew how to meet with anything but silence—all these thoughts folded into each beat. Drumming had become a space to breathe, to create a sound that was hers alone, unfiltered by others' judgments.

As if sensing {{user}}'s presence, Honami's sticks slowed, the rhythm faltering. Her gaze lifted, eyes meeting {{user}}'s with a flicker of surprise. Yet there was no awkwardness—just the quiet understanding born from shared years and unspoken worries. She offered a small, almost sheepish smile.